


Single Stamina

by effystonem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Johnlock, F/F, F/M, Fluff, How I Met Your Mother - Freeform, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1306813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effystonem/pseuds/effystonem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, Sherlock, Lestrade, and Molly have fallen into a couples coma for the winter. Irene tries to get them out for a night on the town... not bloody likely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Single Stamina

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the How I Met Your Mother episode of the same name. Bit of an AU and probably wholly out of character in the fact that John, Sherlock, Lestrade, Molly, and Irene are a HIMYM-esque group of friends. But regardless, this was written for fun, so enjoy!

It was the seventeenth of December, and John and Sherlock were perfectly content to send clients away in favour of snuggling on the couch. John figured he'd take advantage of Sherlock's uncharacteristic seasonal crash and catch up on films while he caught up on sleep, so that was that. Sherlock, a man of extremes though he was, was also a man of dramatics and seemed to have trouble functioning when the weather was too hot or too cold. He'd bitched about the heat in the pinnacle of summer, so it was only appropriate that he absolutely refused to go outside in the snow. 

Just as well, for John. It had led to quite a lot of lazy, sweet, intimate, sex in virtually every room of the flat. Sherlock had taken to yawning around, wearing only a dressing gown or wrapped in a sheet, communicating with John through looks only. There were Sherlock Looks for everything, apparently, from  _'make me tea'_ to  _'I need a nicotine patch'_ to  _'not another one of those Bond films dear god'._ John had the sneaking suspicion that he and his detective were starting to turn into one of those couples that had been together for a  _long_ time. All the signs were there. Some mornings they showered together without doing anything mildly sexual. They barely spoke aloud because the body language was significant enough. John even knew where to put away odds and ends of Sherlock's that had been left out, and navigating his strange organisational "system" wasn't simple. 

Greg Lestrade and Molly Hooper were feeling rather similarly. They weren't living together, not officially, but since the beginning of December Molly had slept at Greg's more often than not. She definitely had a toothbrush there. And their relationship seemed to be at the stage where they could stay inside, watch films, and not talk for hours on end. They were both homebodies as it was, and the winter season just encouraged that.

Which as all fine and good if you were in a relationship, or, you know, boring, but for others it just wasn't enough. Irene had spent every night for weeks begging them to go out to pubs with her, and every night they refused. When she did drag them out, they automatically found places to sit, nursed shared drinks, and gave the singles in the room tired looks of apathy. It was utterly boring, and certainly the last thing Irene had expected from  _Sherlock,_ of all people. Of course, Irene had realised before Sherlock had just how in love he was with John, but she hadn't realised it would make him so pedestrian (to use his words). Irene had had enough of it. She was utterly sick of begging. Tonight, they were coming out, and they were going to have some fun.

* * *

 "No." John said firmly, looking as though he might just shut the door on her face.

"Yes," Irene retorted. Not her best comeback.

"We've already got plans, Miss The Woman, go away," John pouted, stealing a look behind at his boyfriend, who was sitting lazily on the couch. Wrapped in a comforter. It was horrifying. 

"What are these plans, may I ask?" Irene smirked, leaning against the door frame. 

"Ordering takeaway, playing Monopoly, watching a documentary about seals, having a good shag, and going to bed. Now fuck off."

"As extravagant as those plans sound," Irene drawled, "I have a much better plan. We're going to a party." She leaned over John's shoulder and addressed Sherlock directly, "get your trousers on, we're going out."

"No, we're not. Maybe you are, but we're not," John replied pointedly, not budging. Irene sighed. 

"What will it take to get you to have  _fun,"_ she moaned. Drama queen, just like Sherlock, she was, in John's opinion. He was right.

"Dunno. Is there anything that a party has that we don't in the flat?" Sherlock chimed in from the couch, sounding as though he was not about to be convinced. 

"We don't have to go to a party," Irene allowed. "We could just go and get a couple pints. You pair of twats, Lestrade, Molly, and me. I thought you all were my friends," she added frostily.

John looked unmoved but Sherlock seemed to be pondering. "John, we should go."

John whirled around. "What? Really? You want to go out for pints?" His tone was scathing. 

"Yes," he said in a careful, calculated tone. "I think we should try to do something. Being in the flat much longer will give you headaches."

John could  _kind of_ see his point. He wouldn't have his days any other way, but admittedly, maybe he did need some fresh air and a look at some people who weren't, y'know, Sherlock. It would be nice, he supposed, and he owed this much to Irene. It would be nice to go out with Molly and Greg in a setting that wasn't some horribly sleepy double date. 

John huffed a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose. But I'm only coming out for a few hours, whatever you nutters do."

Irene grinned to herself. Mission: half accomplished. Getting Lestrade and Molly out would be much easier, since their relationship was a little newer than John and Sherlock's. 

* * *

 By the time they got to Irene's preferred drinking spot, which was an upscale and somewhat pricey club called  _La Scala,_ John was already starting to wish he had never left the flat, but he would try as it were. Sherlock had cleaned up rather nicely, gotten rid of some of the stubble on his face, combed out some of his curls, washed up, and put on a familiar black suit. That was, in itself, reason enough to stay out for the night. 

As Irene skulked off to buy them a round, the couples automatically found free stools at the bar and sat down, taking in all the crazy single people out on the dance floor. Irene looked disappointed and bit her lip, but after a moment, regained her composure, took a shot, reapplied her blood-red lipstick, and disappeared. 

* * *

  _9:30 PM -_ Sherlock was starting to make ridiculous and progressively more rude deductions to people's faces. Irene had yet to return. Molly was staring out wistfully, probably thinking of her cats. John was itching frustratedly at his jumper. Lestrade was staring at his phone blankly. 

* * *

  _9:56 PM -_ John had spotted Irene sitting on one of the couches, batting her eyelashes at a gorgeous brunette in a black dress. Sherlock had turned to pestering John, mainly by kissing his neck insistently and refusing to bugger off. Molly and Greg had decided to attempt dancing, and they both looked very awkward, but they at least appeared to be having fun.

* * *

 _9:58 PM -_ Greg spins Molly around while dancing with her and gives her a surprise kiss, one of the deep and intimate ones that makes the rest of the world go away. Sherlock complains indirectly that John will not pay attention to him, John tells him to fuck off.

* * *

 _10:02 PM -_ Irene brings her newest conquest over to meet her friends.

"This is John, Sherlock, Greg, and Molly. Meet Kristine," she smirks at her friends and introduces them one by one.

"Krista," the girl corrects, leaning in to shake hands with Lestrade and smiling charmingly.

Sherlock looks at her for less than a second before starting to deduce out loud. "Only out of university a few years, working with money... a bank? No, something to do with stock. Moved in to a new flat by yourself as you've recently began to make enough money to live on your own. Adopted, quit smoking years ago, once danced ballet at almost a professional level. You've witnessed a death," Sherlock finished, barely taking in breath.

"Krista looked startled. "How did you-"

"Never mind that," Irene cut her off. "Why don't you introduce me to Kayla?"

* * *

  _10:34 PM -_ Irene has disappeared with Krista and possibly her friend Kayla, leaving the couples to their own devices. Sherlock has turned to publicly groping John in an attempt to get him to go home, Molly has been in the bathroom for a long time, and Greg is sitting there staring at a wall and trying not to look at Sherlock's inappropriately placed hands.

* * *

  _11:26 PM -_ Greg and Molly have gotten to dancing again, and there's still no sign of Irene (or Krista or Kayla for that matter), so John and Sherlock decide to call it a night. Sherlock nuzzles John's shoulder in appreciation for the entire ride home. 

* * *

  _11:39 PM_

"We are never trying that again," Sherlock declared, kissing John on the forehead and turning out the lamp. John rolled over to face away from his partner and couldn't help himself from smiling a little.

"Definitely not," he agreed.

* * *

 In the end, that didn't turn out to be true. Irene managed to get the gang out a few more times, but certainly not for New Year's Eve. Nothing could tear John away from tea, crap telly, cuddling, and Sherlock's skin that night. 

Maybe come January everyone would get out of their slump, get back to work, and leave their respective flats more often, but for now, December was for staying inside. 


End file.
